


It Didn't Pass

by crowreys_wormstache



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotional Porn, F/M, Kinda?, Pining, Post-Canon, Regret, The priest contemplates getting cockblocked by God, unrequitted requitted love, ya know what i mean guys YOU WATCHED THE SHOW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25360441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowreys_wormstache/pseuds/crowreys_wormstache
Summary: “I love you.”The priest took her hand in his, stroking her soft slim fingers, his heart breaking at the knowledge that this was the last time he would get to touch her this way.“It’ll pass,” he said in a weak attempt to comfort her. Her, as well as himself. He wanted, no, he had to believe it would. For his own sake.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	It Didn't Pass

“I love you.”

The priest took her hand in his, stroking her soft slim fingers, his heart breaking at the knowledge that this was the last time he would get to touch her this way.

“It’ll pass,” he said in a weak attempt to comfort her. Her, as well as himself. He wanted, no, he _had_ to believe it would. For his own sake. He leaned closer to her, their foreheads almost touching, but didn’t quite dare to close the gap. He couldn’t be sure what would happen if he did. Fuck, she smelled heavenly. He stifled a bitter chuckle at that comparison. Closing his eyes, he inched just a little closer, longing for one last kiss, one last taste of her lips before they would go their separate ways – both literally and figuratively.

He pulled away.

It took all his strength to make the choice – to pick God, to stay true to his faith. He wasn’t strong enough to make the choice again if they kissed.

He couldn’t stay. Every second he stayed brought him closer to the breaking point, and the embrace of his God wouldn’t stand a chance against the embrace of his Fleabag. Not a second time. 

The priest got up to leave.

One last time he turned back. And felt his heart fall and shatter to a thousand unmendable pieces like a dropped vase.

The strong, witty, take-no-shit woman he fell in love with – more than he thought was even possible – was a mess. Her face was red, eyes puffy from the tears she tried to keep at bay. And it was his fault. He wanted nothing more than rush back to her, take her in his arms and tell her that things would be okay. He almost wanted to apologize. But he couldn’t.

“See you Sunday?” He asked, a hint of hope escaping his lips along with the question. He wanted her to come. He didn’t want her to come. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. “I’m joking,” but was he? “You’re never allowed in my church again,” he added quickly, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on how his voice betrayed him.

 _Because I won’t be able to hold back if you do._ She probably sensed those unspoken words. She always did.

“I love you too.”

The words slipped from his mouth before he even knew he was going to say them. His eye stung as a single tear rolled down his cheek as he gave her a shaky smile and left, fighting the urge to look back at her; the risk of losing his self-control was too great.

_It didn’t pass._

Months later, when Connell came to confess, it hit far too close to home for the priest’s liking.

“I'm in love, Father, but I feel like because of the way that I am, I’m causing pain to the person that I love.”

The priest felt that. He felt that a lot. But it got worse.

“I guess I’m just really torn. You know the physical side of things is great, that’s always been so powerful-“

 _She was a little taller than him and_ so _hot. Her eyes lit up when she saw him that day. Clearly she was expecting that… other man, but it didn’t matter. She wanted him there, she chose him. He remembered the exact feeling he had when he slowly untied her coat and saw her bare body beneath. It was both arousing and somehow intimidating and made him want her all the more._

 _And then she kissed him. It was rough and hungry and passionate and it was_ everything _. He remembered the taste of her lipstick, the scent of her perfume, the feeling of her skin. She entranced his every sense and it was mesmerizing, overwhelming. He remembered how the sight of her in the morning – of her love-filled eyes – made him feel warm and calm. Like breaking his celibacy wasn’t bad after all. Like this was where he was meant to be. Like this was everything he wanted from life._

_To wake up to the sight of her every morning._

Connell’s words forced him to leave the past.

“It’s when I try to express what I’m feeling that things get, uh, complicated.”

“I get it.” He did. He understood only too well.

“You do?”

_He remembered her smile. Her laugh. The twinkle in her eyes when she was about to say or do something scandalous._

“When it’s good, it feels so good," the priest continued.

“It’s almost like you’re being tested. You lie awake at night, wondering if this is some kind of cosmic challenge that you’re being burdened with in order to audit your soul. Because you think to yourself, something this perfect, this _right._ How could it be a… a sin? How could it?!”

Connell was mumbling something, but the priest hardly paid attention, lost in his monologue.

_The corners of her mouth wrinkle when she smiles. And she always wrinkles her nose when she’s uncomfortable, he remembered with a bittersweet twinge tugging at his heart. The images of her came unbidden to him, for months locked far away in the deep recesses of his mind, where he could not see them, could not feel them, but now they descended upon his consciousness with a soft caress, like a gentle mist greeting his weary soul as on a cold winter morning, unburdened by the shackles of his attempts at trying to keep them at bay. And he remembered. The mess of brown hair curling at the nape of her neck, teasing at her soft skin just like he did, when he ran his fingers through the silken strands. The birthmark on her forehead that she usually hid under her fringe. He remembered every single thing about her, every single detail he fell in love with, every single seemingly insignificant thing he missed about her._

“That’s exactly why the test is so complex because it’s the very idea of hope that you’re being asked to deny, right? Because the most exquisite torture is that you’ve been tricked into believing in goodness itself! An illusion so perfectly cunning that it can only have been invented by the Devil – not God. Not by God! Right?!”

_He remembered how his heart skipped a beat whenever she was around. Whenever he thought of her. It still did._

_It didn’t pass._

He hasn’t seen her in so long and missed her so much. Every Sunday he looked through the crowd, searching for a loving pair of eyes, brown like a glass of brandy in the sun, eyes warm like a loving hug. _Her_ eyes.

He did ask her not to come anymore and he honestly wasn’t sure what he would do if she came. But still he wished she would.

He often wondered if he made the right choice. He would stare at her number on his phone, his finger hovering over the Call button, desperately wanting to hear her voice. To make her laugh. To see her face and hold her hand.

He did love God and he did love being a priest. But he also loved _her_. He was sure he never loved anyone as much as he loved her. And he was increasingly more convinced that he would never stop loving her.

_It didn’t pass._

The irony of Connell’s loved one, Marianne, also arriving to confess and them reconciling over a song was almost painful.

_Maybe if I told you the right words,_

_At the right time, you’d be mine._

He sang it with them. Not just to encourage them. He sang along because the song captured the whirlwind of his thoughts of the past months so perfectly, so entirely, that it was haunting.

_I love you,_

_Is all that you can't say._

He did say it though. He said it that day. The last time he saw her. He said it and it was the most painful thing he’s ever done. And still he wished he could tell her every day.

So what were the right words then? Were there any in the first place? Was he supposed to choose _her_ back then? Renounce his faith? His God? For his Fleabag?

No.

Not _his._ She would never be his. She could never be his.

He remembered his speech at the wedding.

“Love is awful. It makes you doubt yourself. Judge yourself.”

It was true. She came into his life like a hurricane. Like a wild, unexpected and beautiful storm, sending everything he believed in flying in all directions. And he was doomed. He fell for her and he fell hard. As a priest he was supposed to love only one thing. And it was working out quite well.

Until then.

Never before was he so unsure of his every decision in life. Never before did he question his faith. He wasn’t supposed to question his faith. He was a _priest_ ! He was the one people came to when _their_ faith wavered. Did he make the right choice? He didn’t know. He only had his God for counsel and He was awfully quiet about it too. Sure, the paintings stopped falling off the walls, but that was hardly enough reassurance – and there was no going back now.

He couldn’t just run back to her, she’s probably moved on by now. He desperately hoped she did. To feel less guilty about hurting her with his decision and to convince himself that he couldn’t undo it anymore. But he didn’t dare to find out. Because he couldn’t risk finding out that she did not move on. That she would still have him. That he could still come back.

And so he kept on with his life. He preached and listened to confessions and christened newborn children. He did what he devoted his life to. And every once in a while, he thought to have seen a familiar slim figure. The signature striped shirt. A pair of the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. And he would feel a bittersweet mixture of pain and joy.

It never was her, of course, just wishful thinking.

Right?

_It never passed._

**Author's Note:**

> So anyway if it's not obvious, the ending of Fleabag destroyed me. Not gonna lie I get it and it's a good ending but it HURT.
> 
> I hope you liked the fic. Feedback is appreciated! If anyone has some plot suggestions for another fic, feel free to drop them in the comments too!


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